


Deal with the Devil

by Chichirinoda



Category: Baccano!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-24
Updated: 2008-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eve has second thoughts about giving Dallas to the Runoratas and strikes a deal with the Gandors to keep Dallas from him. But was the deal she made really best for Dallas, or just throwing him from the frying pan into the fire?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deal with the Devil

The knock at Luck's office door was quiet and almost tentative, not at all the kind of tap he would have expected to hear. He looked up from going over the figures and closed the ledger book with a frown.

Who the hell had managed to get all the way from the front of Coraggioso to his door without being stopped or escorted there? He hadn't heard a peep from downstairs, which meant there hadn't been a fight.

Despite the quality of the knock, which wasn't at all aggressive, he reached under the desk and drew the pistol from the holster attached to the underside of his desk, holding it in his lap. Not that he had anything to fear, but it was still comforting to feel the cool heft of the gun in his hand as he called out.

"Come in."

When he saw who was at his door, Luck relaxed and slipped the gun back into its holster with a smile. He steepled his hands on the desk. "Ms. Genuard, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

Her expression was solemn and she looked quite determined as she strode into the room and up to Luck's desk. He saw that there was a trace of nervousness in the way her hands were balled into fists, however.

"Mr. Gandor, I...I have a request for you," she said.

He rose politely, as she approached. "I'm listening," he said. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you," she said, lifting her chin. "Mr. Gandor, it's been three days since they started dredging the river, looking for my brother. They haven't found him, yet."

Luck wondered if this was some kind of accusation. "I'm sure they'll find him soon, Eve," he said reassuringly. "I assure you that I gave the workmen the exact location where Dallas was dumped. It's possible he was carried some small distance by the current, but those oil drums had concrete in them. They're pretty heavy. It's just a matter of time."

"But..." She sat down abruptly, perching right at the edge of the seat. "Mr. Gandor, I'm sure you're right that they will find him soon. But the longer I think about, the worse it gets. I...I'm afraid of what will happen to him when they find him."

As Eve was now seated, Luck resumed his own chair and leaned forward again. "You're concerned about what Don Runorata intends to do?" he asked. He could sympathize, but... he spread his hands. "I have no control over what the Runorata family does, I'm afraid my dear, but I know you recognize that. What is it that you've come to ask me for?"

She looked down at her own hands, clasped tightly in her lap, and Luck thought he saw her blinking back tears. "I...I was wondering if you could do something, anything, to keep Dallas away from him?" she said softly. "Can you...buy off the workmen, perhaps? If they look long enough without finding him, I'm sure Don Runorata will give up."

Luck arched a brow. "I could do that," he said. He rose and stepped around the desk, taking a seat in the other chair, next to her. She hunched in the seat and he reached out to touch her chin, drawing it up so their eyes met. "That requires money, Eve, and I'm not made of it. But I'm certain there is something you can offer me. Let's make a deal."

She swallowed and straightened her shoulders. "Yes, Mr. Gandor," she said softly. "We'll make a deal."

* * *

Dallas didn't remember much of his rescue. Later, he recalled vague impressions of pain and coughing up boatloads of water, and the teethgrinding sound of a drill as they released him from the concrete encasing his legs.

He remembered screaming and struggling, panicked by the pain and confusion. Then he felt gentle hands and Eve's voice. _"It's all right. It's going to be all right."_

Then a stranger's voice. _"Step back please, Ms. Genuard. I'm going to give him something to calm him down."_

The sting of a needle in his arm, and then nothing for a long time.

Until he began to awaken, foggily. Surfacing from the drugged sleep was like swimming up from the bottom of the river. He tried to turn over, and found his arms restrained, then struggled mindlessly, twisting himself up and finally landing with a thump on the floor. His eyes flew open and he lay where he was for a moment, trying to sort himself out through the panic making his heart thump and his head spin.

Finally he managed to sit up, unwinding the blankets from around himself. That was obviously what had panicked him, and he was lucky he hadn't hit his head on the side-table when he fell out of the bed. That would have hurt, at least for a moment.

He was nude, but stood up anyway, looking around himself as he let the blankets fall to the floor around his feet. This wasn't home. He didn't recognize the furniture at all, though it was a comfortable room, the kind of room you might have found in his house.

He was just starting to feel really uncomfortable about the nudity when he saw a suit draped over a chair. He moved closer and realized that it was a set of his own clothes, but not the clothes he'd been wearing when he...when they...

His mind shied away from the memory.

They were definitely his, and he ran his fingers over the soft silk of the shirt before quickly getting dressed. If they had his clothes from his closet, that meant that his family had provided them. His heart soared with hope. Maybe they'd just redecorated while he was away. It might have been a while before they found him.

He searched the room. The closet was full of his clothes, though it wasn't all of the clothes he owned. There were a few other items set around the room, homey kinds of things, like a shell bracelet that Eve had given him when they were both kids, and a framed photograph of their family, all posed and looking perfect. His hands trembled so much as he held the photograph that he put it down hastily, afraid of dropping it and breaking the glass.

Maybe things would be different, now.

Finally he stepped out into the hallway, and immediately balked. This _definitely_ wasn't his house, or any house he'd ever been to. The layout was all wrong, and he didn't recognize it at all. Where in hell was he?

"Hello?" he called, picking a direction and walking down the hall, poking into rooms as he went. More bedrooms and a bathroom with a flush toilet, but so far as he could tell he was alone.

Then his nose caught the scent of food and he quickened his pace. He suddenly realized he'd never been so hungry in his entire life, and his stomach cramped the moment he thought of it.

He followed his nose like a dog, slavering at the smell of frying eggs and bacon. He trotted down a set of stairs and passed through a sitting room without even seeing it, finally pushing through a doorway into a large kitchen.

Luck was standing at the stove, poking the eggs with a spatula. He turned when Dallas burst into the room and raised an eyebrow. "Oh good, you're awake. You look hungry."

Totally taken by surprise, Dallas threw himself backwards. The door had already begun to close behind him and he struck it hard with his back, slamming it closed with a sound like a gunshot. That shocked a scream from his throat, and he threw up his arms protectively as if it would hide him from the other man.

Dallas did nothing but panic for a few minutes, but nothing bad happened and he finally lowered his arms as that fact penetrated. He looked at Luck and the man was still exactly where he had been, looking at him with a bemused expression.

"All right, Dallas?" Luck asked.

"I uh..." Dallas straightened up, trying to tell himself that his hands weren't shaking. Luck looked perfectly composed, and he felt shabby and stupid, in his shirt with the top two buttons undone and no suit jacket, freaking out at nothing. "Y-yes."

He heard his own voice, and swallowed hard. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said with a bit more bravado.

"Good."

Luck turned back to the eggs. "You didn't answer my question," he added.

Dallas spent a moment desperately trying to recall what the question had been and failing completely. "Uh, what was it, again?" he asked nervously.

At that moment, his stomach rumbled loudly and Luck chuckled. "I guess that's as good as an answer, though." He reached for the eggs and cracked two more into the pan, then added some more bacon. The smell was maddening, and Dallas shrank against the door again, holding his arms over his squalling stomach.

The minutes stretched out, and finally Dallas dared to speak up again. "Uh, Luck -- I mean, Mr. Gandor, sir?"

Luck glanced over his shoulder. He was transferring the eggs and bacon to a plate. "What is it, Dallas?" He bent and opened the oven to fish out several slices of toast.

"What...are you going to do to me now?" Dallas asked faintly.

To him, it seemed obvious. They'd tired early of the game of leaving him at the bottom of the river, and now they had come up with something even worse to do to punish him for killing those guys. He was mostly just waiting for Berga and Keith to come out of somewhere, and for Berga to beat the crap out of him while they watched.

The whole food thing...he just couldn't make it make _sense_.

"I'm going to ask you to get the butter from the fridge," Luck said, loading the plates onto a tray. "And the orange juice, or whatever you'd like to drink, and follow me."

Dallas swallowed and unglued his backside from the door so he could go to the refrigerator. "Y-yes, sir." He was just too hungry to think, and he was just hoping that he'd actually get to _eat_ before the next stage of the punishment started.

He followed Luck out a different door than the one he entered, and into the dining room. His first impulse was to sit down as far from Luck at the large table as he could, but Luck placed the two plates at one end of the table, across from one another and he had no choice but to set down his own burdens and sit down.

Then he reached out without even consciously realizing he was going to do it, and fell on the food like a starving mongrel.

He was vaguely aware of Luck still standing, staring at him with astonishment. No sooner had Dallas cleared his plate, but Luck tipped the contents of his own plate into it and left the room. Dallas blinked, belatedly realizing what he'd done, but he was still so hungry, and he couldn't resist the smell of the crackling bacon. When Luck returned with another few helpings of food, he barely looked up to acknowledge him.

He consumed three plates of food to Luck's one, and almost all of the toast, slathering the butter so thickly it dripped down his fingers as he ate.

Finally he began to slow down and realized that Luck was sitting across from him, eating quietly and watching him with a thoughtful expression. Dallas' stomach was full, stretched tight as a drum, and he finally didn't feel hungry.

Still, he drained his glass of juice, before finally addressing Luck. "What is going on?" he asked, far more boldly than before. He was starting to feel more like himself, though when he met Luck's gaze, he still felt like crawling under the table and curling into a ball.

Luck wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped it onto his almost-empty plate, then reached into his jacket. Dallas tensed, but he only withdrew a sealed envelope from his inside breast pocket and held it out. "This should answer a lot of your questions, I suspect," he said impassively.

Dallas took the envelope and turned it over. It was addressed to him in a familiar script, and he ripped it open with shaking hands.

 _My Dear Dallas,_

 _I hope that this letter finds you well. I have been searching for you for a long time, and I'm so glad that you've been found, even if I can't be there with you right now._

 _Though I wish I could write to you only of happy news, there are some things that you must know. While you were away, our Father and Jeffery were murdered by the Runorata family. I beg you not to think of revenge, and just be happy that we both were spared. They learned of your new condition, and wanted to study you in some kind of lab._

 _I am ashamed to say that I was at first desperate enough to see you rescued from the river that I agreed to allow you to go to the laboratory, but I since had second thoughts. Mr. Luck Gandor has graciously agreed to take you in instead, as it's Not Safe for you to be at our house. You would Surely be found there, and then you would be taken back into Darkness once again._

 _Please be good and obey Mr. Gandor, and do not worry about me. I am doing well, and I'm sure that God will bring us back together soon. May He Bless and Keep You._

 _Sealed with a kiss._

 _Your loving sister,  
Eve_

 _P.S. Though I know it will make you angry, I pray for you every night. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me._

 _Eve_

Dallas read the entire letter, then read it again, the paper rustling slightly as his hands continued to shake. His eyes were caught over and over by the last paragraph.

 _Be good and obey Mr. Gandor_

It made him feel ill. What bargain had Luck forced his sister into that she would hand him over to the man who had put him in the river in the first place, and admonish him to _obey_?

A surge of anger made him crumple the paper into a ball and throw it down on the table as he jumped to his feet. "This is bullshit," he hissed. "That's not my sister's letter. You're just trying to fool me! She'd never write something like this!"

"I assure you, Dallas," Luck said quietly. "Whatever was written in there was written by her own hand only. She even put some kind of symbol on the envelope so you would know it was written by her." He pointed to the envelope, where an 'X' had been placed over the flap, so it couldn't be unsealed or replaced without it being obvious.

Dallas caught up the envelope and stared at it. _Sealed with a kiss._ She had written that in the letter, to remind him. When they were children, they often passed notes to each other, and would put an 'X' on them, playing that the notes might be intercepted by pirates or robbers. 'X' was also a symbol for a kiss that Eve sometimes used in her letters.

He swallowed convulsively, the envelope falling from nerveless fingers.

"What did you do to her, you bastard?" he whispered hoarsely. "What did she give you?"

Luck shook his head. "That is between myself and her, and I assure you that I am acting on her instructions by not telling you the details."

Dallas slammed his hand against the table, making the silverware jump. "You _piece of shit_ ," he snarled. "Leave my sister alone! I'll kill you!"

Luck stared at him for a moment, and Dallas suddenly realized who he was screaming at. He took a step backwards, his heart thumping wildly as he struggled to try to remember manners he'd discarded long ago as useless and weak. "I...I mean... I'm sorry, Mr. Gandor. I was just..."

"It's all right," Luck said, smiling. It was a shark's smile. "You're understandably distressed, after your ordeal. Why don't you head back to your room for a while and we'll continue this discussion when you're feeling more clear-headed?"

"Um...yeah..." Dallas said. He snatched up the crumpled letter and the envelope and fled, back up the stairs, and back to his room.

To his shock, he discovered that the bedroom door locked from the inside. He turned the deadbolt, then sank down to sit against the door. He unfolded the letter carefully, lovingly trying to smooth out all the creases, and read it again and again.

 _Eve, my dear angel..._ he thought, leaning his head against his knees with the paper against his cheek. _What have you done? What did you sacrifice for my sake this time? I'm not worth it, whatever it was!_

* * *

Luck watched as Dallas fled, listening to his feet pounding up the stairs and the slamming of the door as he retreated into the sanctuary that Luck had actually spent some significant amount of time setting up for him.

He cleared away the dishes and cleaned up, keeping his ear cocked for any signs of Dallas, but the younger man didn't seem inclined to emerge any time soon. The movements of cleaning up after himself were unfamiliar, but not completely so. The Gandor family hadn't always been as prominent as they were now, and Luck well-remembered a childhood with far less privilege than he enjoyed now.

Dallas had probably never lived a day without servants caring for him.

But his time at the bottom of the river seemed to have wrought some changes in him, at least. It remained to be seen whether the scars would be too much for him, or whether the positive changes would last.

Finally he moved to the phone and dialled. When the line was picked up, he smiled to keep his tone light.

"It's Mr. Gandor speaking," he told the woman who answered. There was a pause as the phone was passed over.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Genuard, he's awake. I thought you might want to know."

Eve caught her breath audibly, even over the bad line. "Oh thank the Lord," she said. "Is he all right, Mr. Gandor?"

"He seems unhurt, but frightened. I'm afraid I gave him quite a turn," Luck said ruefully.

"Oh my...what did you do to-- uh..." Eve swallowed the near-accusation with an audible gulp.

He couldn't help but laugh. "Well, I do tend to intimidate him a bit. That shouldn't be surprising to anyone. What's surprising is that he let me know it."

Eve was silent for a moment. "Do you really think he'll be all right?"

Luck cocked his head. "He'll relax soon enough. By the time you arrive, he'll be the same old Dallas, I'm sure."

She let out a breath. "I'm certain you're right. Thank you for everything you've done, Mr. Gandor."

He smiled again. "It's my pleasure, my dear. And don't forget to call me Luck. I'll pick you up in a few days so you can fulfil your end of the bargain. Don't worry, it should be quite painless."

"Y-yes, I'm sure it'll be fine."

After exchanging a few pleasantries, he hung up and then leaned his head back against the wall.

Making promises he didn't know he could keep wasn't really his style, but something about Eve called for...reassurance. Really, he had no idea if Dallas would ever be the same again.

* * *

Dallas wasn't sure how long he stayed where he was. He might have faded out a bit. And when he finally got up his back screamed at him. He didn't know if his immortal body also repaired stiff muscles or if he just managed to stretch it out, but the pain faded quickly.

He was a bit surprised that Luck hadn't come to talk to him, but he supposed it would be lame for him to hide in here any longer. Besides, now that the initial fear had faded, he was starting to get almost _curious_.

Why was Luck being so nice? Was it to prime him for something really awful, or was there something else going on here?

Besides, there was no way Eve would have handed him over to Luck if there was a chance something worse awaited him here.

But the idea that Eve had sold herself in some way to that monster downstairs in order to keep Dallas safe galled him. He was definitely going to have to do something about _that_.

Even if it meant he'd go right back to the bottom of the river.

He suddenly realized he was pacing the room, the letter clutched tightly in his hands, and he compulsively smoothed it out again, trying futilely to get the little wrinkles out of it. He now regretted crumpling it up in that fit of pique, because no matter what he'd accused Luck of, Dallas truly did believe it had come from his sister.

Sighing softly, he refolded the letter and slid it back into the envelope, then set it down on the dresser next to the shell bracelet.

After a moment's consideration, he picked up the bracelet and slipped it over his wrist, then convulsively tugged the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it.

Thus emboldened with courage, he unlocked the door and went in search of Luck.

He found him in the parlour, and unfortunately he wasn't alone. Berga and Keith sat with him around a table, playing Old Maid. The thick smoke of their cigars drifted towards the ceiling and they all had glasses of what looked like scotch in front of them, though the bottle's label had been scratched off.

Dallas stopped dead in the doorway, panic replacing all semblance of thought in his brain. He was still standing there, frozen, when all three Gandor brothers turned to look at him.

"Hey, the little shit decided to show himself," Berga rumbled, rising to his feet and knocking his glass back to drain the last of his drink.

"Hello Dallas," Luck said quietly. "My brothers decided to drop by, since they'd heard you were up and about."

Keith didn't say a word, but his dislike was obvious in his narrowed eyes. He turned away after a moment, reshuffling the order of the cards in his hand.

"Um, that's nice," Dallas said as Berga circled the table and started towards him. He didn't realize he was backing up until he hit the wall behind him. "Uh, don't let me disturb you. E-enjoy your ga--"

Berga's hand hit the wall next to Dallas' head with the force of a wrecking ball, and the big man's other hand fisted in his shirt, raising Dallas up onto his toes.

"You listen to me, you little pissant," Berga growled. Dallas could actually smell the alcohol on his breath as he spoke. "You're lucky not to be down at the bottom of that river, where you belong. You give Luck one _lick_ of trouble, and I'll be here to deal with you personally, you got it?"

Dallas swallowed hard and nodded quickly. That didn't quite seem sufficient, so he added. "I...I got it."

His heels hit the ground suddenly as Berga let him go, and for one happy instant he thought it was over. But Berga wasn't quite finished. "And don't even _think_ about trying to run. Because I _will_ find you, and then..." He cracked his knuckles meaningfully.

Dallas felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and he nodded. A beating from Berga wasn't something he ever wanted to experience.

"Berga," Luck said quietly. "He said he gets it."

"He'd better," Berga said unrepentantly, turning away as if Dallas was worth no more consideration, and heading back to his seat.

Dallas wasn't sure he could walk right that instant, so he stayed where he was for a moment after Berga left him alone, though a large part of him wanted to just run again. The rest of him was trying to tell him that he _was_ being a pissant, and that was starting to annoy him.

"Hey kid."

Dallas looked up at the sudden hail to see Keith twisted around in his seat, looking at him. "Yeah?"

"Yes _Mr. Gandor_ ," Berga said with great relish. Dallas spotted Luck rolling his eyes.

"Um, yes Mr. Gandor," Dallas echoed obediently. It wasn't like he had much choice.

Maybe if he got the poker from the fireplace in the drawing room...no, he couldn't fight off all three on his own. He certainly couldn't kill them all, obviously, they were immortal. Though he was immortal as well, gunshots hurt, and if they killed him it would take him out long enough for them to do something horrible to him again.

Keith was continuing. "If you're just going to stand there like a lump, why don't you go get us some more ice?"

"Hey, he's not pretty enough to be a serving girl," Berga said, laughing as Dallas turned red. "We got a dress that'll fit him?"

Luck seemed to be ignoring most of this, sipping his drink and waiting for the hand to resume. But now he glanced up and gave Dallas one of those measuring looks that Dallas knew left him wanting. "If you'd be so kind," he said in a neutral tone, like he didn't much care if Dallas went to get the ice or not.

Dallas' hands were balled into fists from Berga's joking, but he was feeling a bit firmer on his feet, and he nodded. "Sure, I'll just go get some ice for you kind gentlemen," he bit out, turning and straightening his shoulders as he stalked back to the kitchen.

Unlike the sitting room, the kitchen was full of useful weapons, including the ice pick itself. It seemed terribly tempting, as he jabbed the instrument into the block of ice in the freezer, breaking off chunks and dumping them into a bowl, to just carry it back and introduce it to Berga's eye socket, despite the inevitable consequences.

The sound of footsteps made him turn suddenly, raising the ice pick defensively, but it was Luck, not Berga.

That was only a slight improvement. Immediately his heart was set to thumping again and the anger and violent impulses fled. He dropped the ice pick to the counter and picked up the bowl of ice. "I'm almost done," he said defensively. "What do you want?"

He tensed as Luck walked over to him, and cringed despite himself when Luck reached for him. Light fingers closed on his shoulder and then moved to the back of his neck. Dallas hunched, and his fingers white-knuckled on the rim of the bowl.

"I want you to relax," Luck said, his voice lowered enough that Dallas wondered if he was afraid someone would listen. "Berga's needling you because he's concerned about me, but you don't need to be afraid, Dallas."

"This is _bullshit_ ," Dallas said. He kept his own voice low as well, and it came out as a bit of a whine. He didn't like being alone with Luck, and Luck all up in his face, but he didn't want Keith and Berga to intervene, either. "I don't get this. What is going on here?"

"I told you," Luck said. "And I'll go into more detail when I have a chance, but not right now. They came to make sure I'm not going to have a problem, staying here alone with you, and I'm not. Right?"

Dallas flinched at Luck's sharp tone. He was so keyed up, he wasn't sure he could calm down, but he took a few slow breaths and some of the tension in his chest started to ease. "You...won't have a problem," he said awkwardly. "But Berga's not going to beat me up, right?"

"No, he won't, so long as you don't give him an excuse," Luck said. "He's pretty protective of our boys, though. He's still pissed at you."

Dallas knew 'their boys' were the guys he'd killed, and he looked away. "Well, I... I think I've done my time for that," he said mulishly, but he was staring at the ground.

"He disagrees," Luck said simply. His fingers were still at the back of Dallas' neck, massaging gently. It wasn't really helping.

"W-well what am I supposed to do, then?" Dallas asked, grasping at any straw - even the foolish idea that Luck would actually be inclined _help_ him, instead of dancing with joy atop his broken and mutilated body.

Luck thought for a moment. "If you really don't feel up to spending the evening with us, I think I know what to do," Luck said in a soothing tone. "Just do what I say, without question, and I can get you out of the situation before it develops any further. Will you trust me that far?"

"I don't trust you," Dallas whispered through dry lips.

Luck shrugged. "You can stay and play serving girl, then, and hope Berga doesn't decide to take offence at something you say or do."

He let Dallas go and turned away, but Dallas threw himself after him desperately. "Okay, okay, what do I do?"

Luck glanced at him over his shoulder. "Trust me. And whatever happens, just do exactly what I say, and be polite. If you're capable of it."

Dallas swallowed a few times, then croaked. "O-okay."

He stayed in the kitchen for a moment after Luck departed, adding a few more chunks of ice to the bowl, then took a deep breath to steady himself, and walked boldly back to the parlour.

They were playing again, but Berga looked up and fixed him with a crafty stare as Dallas entered the room. The glasses were empty and clustered at one end of the table, and Dallas started dutifully fishing bits of ice out of the bowl with his fingers and dropping them into the glasses.

"Hey!" Berga exclaimed. "Haven't you ever heard of tongs? I don't want your dirty little fingers all over my drink."

Dallas flinched and nearly dropped the bowl. Great, that hadn't taken long. "My fingers aren't dirty, and I...I didn't know--" he protested. Berga was already starting to rise.

A sudden sharp voice cut through it all. "Dallas, shut up," Luck said. "Berga, sit the hell down. I'll deal with him, like I told you."

That sounded incredibly ominous, and Dallas stood frozen as Berga resumed his seat and picked up his cards resentfully, eyeing Dallas with a mixture of anger and bemused curiosity.

Now Luck's voice turned more gentle, though still commanding. "Dallas, finish pouring the drinks."

He swallowed and set down the bowl. _Be polite and do what he says. Be polite and do what he says. What did he tell Berga? What's he going to do?_ "Y-yes, Mr. Gandor." He picked up the bottle and concentrated every muscle in his body to pouring the stuff without spilling it. He wasn't any kind of servant! How was he supposed to remember to look for tongs and things?

He could feel all six eyes on him, and he was sweating.

"So...you broke him before we even got here?" Berga asked suddenly, turning to Luck. "I thought he just woke up this morning."

"It wasn't as though it was difficult," Luck replied carelessly. "The river did most of the work for me."

Dallas set the bottle down. His stomach was clenching. What the hell were they talking about?

Berga's next words hit him like a physical blow. "You're such a queer, Luck," he laughed.

Dallas' head jerked up and he stared at Luck in growing horror. So this? _This_ was what Eve had handed him over to?

Luck met his gaze, and there was no hint of defensiveness - no hint of anything, really. He was completely impassive, impossible to read. "Go to my room and wait there," he said. "I'll be there to deal with you when I'm finished here. Upstairs, last door on the right."

There was a long pause. This was an out - Dallas saw that. But he also saw now what else was going on.

It was this or a beating, though, and probably worse. He had to swallow past a dry throat before he could speak. "Yes, Mr. Gandor," he said softly.

He turned away before his face could betray any more of his outrage, and fled, chased upstairs by Berga's guffaws.

* * *

Luck watched Dallas leave with no small amount of relief for the fact that the ploy had worked, and turned back, enduring Berga's ribbing and Keith's significant glances with good-natured tolerance. They were both aware of what team Luck played on, so it had been easy to set up the situation with a few well-chosen words and a bit of play-acting.

The results would work out well for everyone. His brothers wouldn't encroach too far into Luck's clearly-marked territory, which left Dallas reasonably safe. And Luck wouldn't have to endure feeling the tension coming off of Dallas in waves all night.

They played and drank for a few hours before Berga and Keith left. It was early yet and they had decided to make the rounds of the local bars and flophouses - basically research for their next venture, which was the real reason Luck was here in this rented house outside of Chicago in the first place. Keith and Berga would take the new express train that had replaced the Flying Pussyfoot back to Manhattan in the morning.

Though it was barely dark outside, Luck found the drink had affected him more than he'd meant it to, and he headed upstairs for an early night, listing a little as he went. He opened the door and stopped dead at the sight of Dallas, sitting on the edge of the bed with a listless expression on his face.

Luck had honestly not expected Dallas to be there. He'd thought he'd take the opportunity Luck had given him, head to his own room, and lock the door.

He hadn't expected Dallas to take the whole thing _seriously_.

Luck opened his mouth to tell Dallas that, then thought better of it. Maybe it was the liquor talking, but Luck knew the kind of man Dallas was. If you couldn't bring them to heel with honest loyalty - rarely given - then you had to do it with fear. Bullies like Dallas would sniff out the smallest weakness and think it gave them an advantage. And so long as they thought they had the advantage, they couldn't be controlled.

It probably wasn't a bad thing if Dallas stayed too scared to cross him.

"They're gone," Luck said casually, crossing the room and leaning against his dresser with arms folded. Not too close, but close enough that Dallas had to look up to see him. "I guess that means I have time for that talk now."

Dallas watched him with the hunted look of a cornered animal. "Okay," he said softly. "You mean the talk where you tell me what's going on?"

"That talk, yes," Luck said wryly. "Your sister asked me to help you, since the Runorata family was looking for you. They had learned about your immortality and wanted to study you."

Dallas didn't look surprised. "Yeah, Eve said something about that in her letter. But...why am I here? Really."

Luck shrugged. "You couldn't go home. I had to travel to Chicago and stay here for a while, anyhow. It was negotiated with your sister that you would stay here with me for a while in exchange for certain services."

Dallas sighed. "I thought so."

 _Well, Dallas is certainly taking this better than he did at breakfast,_ Luck thought in surprise.

Then Dallas practically leapt off the bed and dropped to his knees in front of Luck.

"I ain't never done this before," Dallas said roughly, reaching for Luck's belt. Suddenly, he was almost like a different person, sounding more like the cocky tough Luck remembered. "Scott, he was a queer, and I'd let him suck me once in a while, cause he wanted it so bad."

Luck's mouth had dropped open so far his throat was dry. All he could do was say the first thing that came to mind.

"Er, how generous of you."

Dallas didn't respond. He'd undone Luck's pants and his hands were doing maddening things. To be frank, Luck hadn't had any hands on his cock but his own in long enough that it didn't take much for him to get hard. Too short a time for his brain to come up with a way to stop the developing situation.

When Dallas then wrapped his lips around his cock, Luck didn't do a thing to stop him.

He did close a hand in Dallas' hair, though, and let out a groan of pleasure as he settled his weight more firmly back against the dresser.

That Dallas wasn't practiced at this was obvious, but in Luck's state, it didn't really matter. It was all he could do not to hold Dallas' head still and thrust mercilessly into that hot, wet mouth. Once he did shift forward with a cry, and Dallas made a choking sound of distress.

Luck eased off, gasping what he hoped was an apology, but was probably just an incoherent sound.

The choking sounds continued and Luck somehow found the presence of mind to let go completely. Dallas jerked backwards and Luck opened his eyes, seeing the panic in the other man.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Dallas gasped. "I thought I was...down there again."

 _Drowning. I'm an idiot,_ Luck thought.

"It's fine," he said, though his balls were screaming at him that it was most definitely _not_ fine. "Why don't we do something else, then?"

He almost expected Dallas to beg him to let him go, but he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

 _He's been fucking a queer,_ Luck thought fiercely. _He's got to be one, even if he won't admit it. Look how eager he was to get down on his knees. He wants this._

"Strip down, Dallas," he said calmly. Now would he balk? Luck loosened his tie and pulled it off.

But Dallas didn't balk. And he had a good body, a lean, muscled body, younger than Luck's and definitely attractive enough.

He was wearing a strange-looking bracelet made of shells, and when Luck's eyes fell on it he tried almost to hide it behind his back, blushing. Luck wasn't interested in asking questions at that moment, so he simply caught him around the waist and they were kissing, and there was little hesitance in Dallas' mien.

Their tongues lashed and tangled as Luck kicked off his shoes and backed Dallas towards the bed.

When Dallas' calves hit the bed he sat down hard, breaking the contact, and Luck looked him up and down hungrily.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, shrugging out of his shirt.

There was another flash of panic in Dallas' eyes, but he turned over so quickly Luck was sure he imagined it. In a few moments, the last of Luck's clothes were on the floor, and he rooted in the bedside drawer for a bottle of oil.

"M-Mr. Gandor--" Dallas began, but Luck put a hand to the small of his back.

"Relax, I won't hurt you."

He meant more than just right now, but he was also sure Dallas wasn't ready to believe that yet.

The younger man swallowed audibly and quieted, though he still vibrated with tension.

Luck stroked his back gently with one hand as he prepared Dallas with the other. After a few moments, he wrapped his free hand around Dallas' cock and stroked him slowly, scissoring with his fingers to stretch him. Dallas made soft whimpering sounds in the back of his throat that grew the harder he got in Luck's hand.

Impatient, Luck pressed forward as soon as Dallas' whimpers grew to full-throated moans and he was writhing and pressing back against his hand. He pushed deep inside Dallas' body, making distracted soothing noises as Dallas cried out and twisted.

"It'll be okay," Luck gasped, catching Dallas by the shoulder to keep him still. He was still in a bit of an alcohol fog, and his head was spinning, but Dallas' body felt _so_ good.

Soon he was pounding mercilessly into Dallas' ass, and Dallas was no longer trying to get away. He rocked back into each thrust as Luck lost himself in the rhythm of motion, the incredible feeling of Dallas' body squeezing around his cock.

He felt his orgasm already beginning to draw his balls up towards his body and he slowed the pace of his thrusts, working over Dallas' member with his right hand while Dallas squirmed and cried out helplessly.

"God...Luck..."

"Go on," Luck gasped, curling his other hand around Dallas' shoulder again and bending forward over him, driving into him at a deeper angle. "Come, Dallas," he growled.

Dallas' head dropped forward and a few moments later he let out a deep, helpless cry as he orgasmed. Luck gentled his thrusts as he stroked the last of the fluid from Dallas' body and then resumed his strong movement, snapping his hips forward mercilessly and burying himself to the hilt in Dallas' body.

It took only a few more moments for him to reach his own climax, emptying himself with a groan and then dropping down to rest for a moment over Dallas' back, gasping for breath. The younger man collapsed to his stomach under his weight, and they lay for a moment, unmoving.

When Luck caught his breath, he moved off of Dallas with a muttered apology, catching the younger man by the back of his neck and encouraging him to straighten out so they could both use the bed. Dallas lay quiescent next to him, his eyes squeezed shut. They both lay against the pillows, Luck's arm flung across Dallas' shoulders and their lips parted as they breathed.

Luck lay where he was for a while, boneless with the post-coital lassitude, and then finally roused himself enough to pull back the blankets.

Dallas pushed himself up slightly as he did so, watching Luck with hooded eyes. "Are you done?" he asked softly.

The older man stretched out, yawning unashamedly. "Yes, I should think so."

"Then can I go back to my room?" Dallas asked.

Luck forced his eyes open, though he felt like he needed toothpicks to do so. He glanced over at Dallas' wary expression and shrugged. "Sure, if you prefer." He tugged Dallas down and kissed him sloppily, then released him and rolled over, his head still spinning from the alcohol and the intense climax.

He was asleep before Dallas had gathered his clothes and left the room.

* * *

Luck used him nearly every night for two weeks before Dallas got a break.

Dallas spent a lot of time haunting his own room, though he would emerge for meals, and sometimes, for something to stare at other than his own four walls. Berga and Keith didn't return since that first night, and Luck usually spent his own days reading books or playing solitaire, and if he saw Dallas he generally invited him to join in a game of cards.

The cards were all right, at least. Dallas liked cards, even if he did lose to Luck every damn time, it seemed. They spent a lot of time just talking over the cards, and Dallas slowly learned more about Luck's life than he had ever expected to know, and shared more than he might have intended. Luck had a way of listening thoughtfully and asking questions that made it easier to talk, though Dallas still worried uneasily afterwards what the mobster would do with the things he'd learned.

They'd share a pleasant supper. Luck informed Dallas after the third night that he needed to share in the cooking, so thereafter Dallas was dragged into the kitchen each night around four, and set to chopping vegetables or stirring. Dallas was fascinated by the fact that Luck knew how to cook, though all he seemed to know were simple, hearty meals, most of which involved pasta.

"My mother's recipe," he confided once, after Dallas exclaimed over an elaborate lasagne that they had built like a house of cards on the fifth night and which tasted even better than it smelled.

They'd generally share a bottle of wine, or a glass or two of the brandy or whiskey, and then when the plates had been cleaned and the alcohol drunk, Luck would make his move.

It wasn't like the first night, when Luck had ordered him to his room and Dallas had sat there in agony for hours, waiting. Luck usually led him upstairs himself, after that. Once they hadn't actually made it that far, and Luck had grabbed him at the dinner table and fucked him right against the dining room wall.

It wasn't...horrible, Dallas had to admit, even to himself. Luck didn't hurt him much, and hadn't made him suck him since he'd panicked that first night. Why he was _being_ so nice, Dallas couldn't imagine.

If you could call it nice, considering Luck was just using Dallas as a whore in payment for rescuing him from Runorata.

Dallas did, at least, feel it was better than what had been in store for him in the lab.

But tonight when he came out of his room in anticipation of learning some new cooking technique, Luck wasn't in the kitchen.

Confused, Dallas rambled around the large house, poking into rooms here and there, and didn't find any sign of Luck at all. He even knocked tentatively at Luck's door and - heart pounding at the intrusion without invitation - tried the door. It opened, but the room was empty.

For the first time since Dallas had been pulled from the river, he was alone, with no one to account to for what he did or where he went.

For one moment, he stared at the front door, considering just leaving. He could pack his clothes into a bag and strike out right now, be lost in the towers of the Windy City by the time Luck returned from wherever he was, and take the train anywhere he wanted to go. Sure, he couldn't go back to New Jersey, like Luck had said, but he could go anywhere else he wanted. Even to Canada, or Mexico. He could find a place to stop and then ring Eve, and she could come meet him, or something, or at least she would know he was okay.

And he would know she was. He'd been too nervous to ask Luck if he could talk to her yet, and Luck hadn't mentioned Eve once since the first night.

But what if Luck was just getting groceries or something? Dallas might very well wind up stepping out the door, all packed, only to find him returning. Maybe even with Berga and Keith, since it had been quite a while since they last visited, and he had a vague idea that it might be the weekend.

That thought, and the beating that would certainly result, made Dallas abandon the idea right then and there.

 _Besides, Berga said he'd hunt me down if I left,_ Dallas thought to himself, heading to the kitchen and staring dumbly from the doorway. All the tools and appliances that he had thought he could master under Luck's tutelage seemed foreign and incomprehensible to him once again, and he decided to just go play a bit of solitaire in the parlour and wait for Luck to return.

He waited until suppertime, and then waited an hour longer, pacing the front hall and cursing the Gandor name.

Ultimately, he made himself a sandwich with some sliced bread, mustard and some leftover slices of the chicken they had roasted the day before. He hadn't been sure of his ability to light the stove himself without burning the house down, so his supper was cold and a bit unsatisfying.

He gazed longingly into the liquor cabinet for a few minutes, decided that he didn't want to try to drink a whole bottle by himself, then changed his mind and poured himself a generous portion of whiskey and sat back down at the dining room table to drink it.

Halfway into his third glass, the door opened and he started up from the table, striding towards the front hall.

"L-- Mr. Gandor, is that you?" he called. He had slowly started to call Luck by his given name, and hadn't been rebuffed, though when Luck used him he went back to being as polite as he could muster. Considering how much he wanted to swear during those times, it just seemed safer not to piss Luck off.

Just like how right now he was in a black mood. Lonely and angry at being abandoned to fend for himself, and halfway through a bottle of whiskey besides, the only thing that kept him polite was the fear that it was one of the other Gandors, not Luck, or that something had gone terribly wrong and Luck was angry with him.

So he managed the last name, instead of the first, and struggled to keep his tone civil.

Only when he rounded the corner, he saw that while it was indeed Luck, he wasn't alone.

Luck was dressed to the nines, topcoat and hat speckled with melting snow, and a formal suit underneath it, starched white shirt gleaming, even though it was the end of the night. His back was turned to Dallas as he helped his date over the threshold, a stunning blond vision in a mink coat and lavender dress, and a thick stole wrapped around her shoulders. She was a little unsteady in her shoes, and Luck held her hand gallantly as she stepped into the house.

Dallas stopped short, confusion warring with even sharper anger that Luck had brought some tart here, to _their_ house. Without even warning him!

"L-Luck? Who the hell--"

The girl's head jerked upwards at his words, and for a moment the two Genuard siblings' eyes met. Eve's eyes widened, and she flung herself at him. "Dallas! Oh thank God in Heaven, you really look okay!"

Suddenly Dallas had two armfuls of crying, shaking sister, and while he was stunned and overwhelmed with joy at finally seeing her, he was _still_ glaring daggers at Luck over the top of her head.

Luck had gone on a date with Eve. That much was obvious. He had gone on a _fucking date_ with _his fucking sister_ , and he hadn't even told him he was going out, let alone asked permission.

"Where the fuck have you two been?" he snapped, his fingers tightening on Eve's shoulders and thrusting her away until she stood at arm's length, her mouth open with shock and tears still streaming down her face.

"D-Dallas--" Eve began, but the guilty look on her face told him everything he needed to know.

He let go of her and rounded on Luck, who had just finished hanging up his topcoat and hat and wasn't even looking at him. He grabbed the man by the arm, squeezing hard enough to make Luck look up.

"Answer me!" he snapped. "What the fuck did you do to my sister, you piece of dog crap? Aren't I--"

He stopped for a moment, thoughts derailed. The last thing he wanted was for Eve to realize the full extent of what Luck was doing, if she hadn't knowingly given Dallas to him for sex. He couldn't imagine that she knew the details. Couldn't _conceive_ that she understood the full extent of the bargain she had struck, exhortations to 'obey Mr. Gandor' aside.

Drawing a breath, he reordered his thoughts and tried again, his voice low and shaking with rage. "Haven't I done enough to fuckin' repay you? What the fuck d' ya want from us? From _her_?"

Luck didn't show any sign that Dallas was hurting him. Eve was tugging insistently on his sleeve, and he had to resist the strong urge to push her away as he glared up into the other man's eyes, engaged in a battle of wills that Luck seemed to win without even trying.

"Get your hand off of me, Dallas," Luck said in a calm and even tone.

Dallas snatched his hand off of him as if he'd been burned, but balled it into a fist instead. "You piece of no good, low life, murdering scum," he hissed. "You're not good enough to touch my sister in your wildest fuckin' dreams. I tell you, I will hunt you down and kill you so many times if you raped her the way you raped--"

The blow was unexpected, and sent Dallas stumbling back against the far wall, seeing stars. He was up in a moment, though, the bruise on his jaw already fading and the dizziness gone. He advanced on Luck, who was staring at him with no expression whatsoever on his face, but suddenly Eve got in the way.

She grabbed Dallas' hand, trying to pry the fist open, tears in her eyes and a desperate expression on her face. "No, no Dallas, it wasn't like that at all. He was a perfect gentleman, I swear to you," she pleaded. "Please don't do this, Dallas."

"Why don't I leave the two of you to your happy reunion without my interference," Luck said in a cold, tight voice. Then he simply walked away, disappearing through the doorway into the parlour without another word or a backwards glance.

A moment later, Dallas heard his footsteps on the stairs, and the door to Luck's room slammed closed with unnecessary force.

Eve released him, standing back from him. "Why are you always like this?" she demanded, and Dallas felt his mouth go dry when he realized that for once in her life, Eve had finally gotten _angry_ at him. "Why do you have to treat everyone but me so poorly?"

Dallas gentled his tone, reaching for her. "I...angel, it's not--"

"No, stop it!" Eve said, her own small fists clenched. "After hearing what you did to those poor friends of Mr. Gandor's, I've been wondering if you were playing me like a violin all this time, and when you change like that it really does seem so."

Dallas recoiled, his jaw dropping. The words had struck him like a knife to the heart, and he struggled to find some way to respond. "I-It's not like that, Eve," he protested. "It's just that you're the only good in my life."

He lunged forward and dragged her into a tight hug, holding desperately as if she might slip away. "Please don't hate me," he begged. "I couldn't stand it if you hated me. You...you're it, you're the only one, my angel. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He was babbling, and he couldn't stop. He wasn't making any sense, but the thought that she might not believe in him anymore shook him down to his very soul.

But the tide of words did begin to slacken when she slipped her small arms around him in return and hugged him with all her heart. "Oh, my dearest," she whispered. "How could I ever hate you? You're my _brother_."

He didn't realize he'd been crying until he sniffled into her elaborately-coifed hair at those words. "I'm sorry for everything," he whispered. "I know I fucked everything up, but I'll find a way to make it up to you."

Her arms squeezed. "A lot of what happened wasn't your fault, Dallas," she said soothingly.

She shifted, leaning back to look up at him, though his grip was still very tight. "But you do have to apologize to Mr. Gandor for the terrible things you said," she said sternly. "How could you think he would have done something like that to me?"

Dallas shifted guiltily. "I...well...he's a gangster, angel. You know he does bad stuff. He...he tortures people, and--"

The stern expression wasn't going away. If anything, it was deepening. "And after all the nice things he said about you tonight. Honestly, Dallas."

"Huh?" Dallas blinked at her, thunderstruck. "He talked about me to you tonight?"

She disentangled herself and turned away, going to hang up her coat and stole, and slipping out of her shoes. He'd never seen her in heels so high, and he understood why Luck had needed to help her over the doorstep. He'd certainly never seen her dress this way.

"If it weren't for what I just saw, I'd think he was smitten with you," she said, huffing.

"But..." Dallas was completely confused. Luck, smitten with him? It was absurd. "But what were you two doing tonight, angel? Wasn't he dating you?"

She rolled her eyes, turning back to him with hands on hips. "Oh Dallas, he doesn't even like girls. That's why he asked me for this in return for helping you."

"What?"

* * *

Luck could hear the two siblings speaking even from his room, but it was a muffled ghost of a sound, completely incomprehensible. Presently, the noises in the front hall disappeared and he heard some movement in the house, in the hallway outside. Doors opening and closing, and more conversation.

Good, they were getting along again. A family man himself, he would have felt terrible if he'd somehow come between them. Any idiot who spent five minutes in a room with them could tell how important they were to one another, and Luck was no idiot.

He was drunk, though. There had been half a bottle of whiskey sitting on the dining room table along with a half-empty glass, and he'd taken that with him when he came upstairs, feeling wretched.

He wasn't surprised when he heard Dallas' quiet knock at the door.

Dallas was always polite when he was afraid of making Luck angry. It was one of the aspects of his post-drowning transformation that actually irritated Luck quite a bit. Mostly because it was evidence of a deep wound in his heart, that showed how frightened he really still was. As if the politeness was some kind of shield he had never needed before, but which he held between them now.

Even after two weeks of living together, when Dallas had really come to relax around him, he had always reverted to politeness when they had sex.

It should have been a signal.

He should have seen it, but he'd been blind. Willfully so. For Luck the last two weeks had been almost like a honeymoon. He'd never had a long-term lover before, and for all that Dallas claimed to be straight, he was obviously not. He had responded to Luck's advances with enthusiasm and willingness, and never objected to anything Luck wanted to do or try.

Though Luck had kept his mouth shut tonight when around others, in the car on the way to and from the party, he'd found himself talking almost incessantly about Dallas to Eve. Though that was natural to a certain extent, as she wanted to know how he was doing, and it was really the one thing they had in common, he had seen her own startlement and happiness at the way Luck had spoken of him reflected in her eyes.

But now he realized that the whole thing had been twisted from the start. Dallas had only been willing because he was afraid to say no aloud. And Luck hadn't wanted to see it.

"Come in, Dallas," he said wearily, and the door opened.

"I, uh--"

Luck raised his head and speared Dallas with his coldest expression. "Pack your bags and go," he said. "Don't worry, we won't go after you. If the two of you settle somewhere else, the Runorata shouldn't come after you outside their own territory, so you should be safe."

Dallas stared at him with an open-mouthed expression, utterly stunned. Luck wasn't surprised. Of course after all this, he must have thought Luck would never let him be, never stop hurting him.

Luck looked away, waiting for Dallas to take his offer so he could go find himself another bottle of whiskey. This one was empty, and he wasn't nearly drunk enough yet.

"W-what...you're telling me to go?" Dallas said.

"That's the offer on the table," Luck said dully, struggling to keep his game face on. "It may expire."

There was a pause and then he heard the door close. He relaxed, but a moment later he felt Dallas' hand land on his shoulder and looked up in surprise.

"Wait, wait!" Dallas said hastily. "I have to talk to you, first. Eve told me what's really going on. You were negotiating with the Russo family, and had to pretend to have a wife so Don Russo wouldn't get suspicious or try to marry you off to his daughter. She said he doesn't like queers and it could have messed up the whole thing. Why didn't you tell me that was the payment for helping me?"

"I thought I did," Luck said numbly. But no, he had left it vague. He hadn't wanted Dallas to get mad at him for taking Eve into that world of mobsters, even if it was only for a couple of nights. One party, maybe a dinner or two, and then it would be over. But he'd been sure Dallas wouldn't have seen it that way, so he'd played it close to the chest.

Dallas had misinterpreted, and Luck had let him do it. Because he'd been a bit drunk that night. Because he'd wanted it. Because he'd been lonely.

The younger man stepped back. "You told me you wanted services," he said, and now his tone was accusing, just as Luck deserved. "I thought that meant you wanted _me_."

"I did," Luck admitted softly. "But that wasn't the service I was talking about."

There was a short silence, while Luck waited for Dallas to storm out.

"Don't you want me anymore? Why are you throwing me out? You're mad at me for yelling at you, aren't you? Well, I'm sorry."

The quiet questions - and more, the apology - threw Luck completely off guard. His head jerked up and he saw Dallas standing a short distance away, looking rebellious and hang-dog in that rather annoying way he had. He had his lip pooched out almost like he was pouting, and was looking at Luck with a sort of hopeful expectation lurking in his eyes, like he was waiting for him to do something.

"I...I'm not mad at you," Luck said. He could hear the stammer in his own voice, but was too thrown to recover his poise. "And I'm not throwing you out. I just thought...I thought you wanted to leave."

Dallas shifted uncomfortably. "Well...what if I didn't want to leave so much?" he asked, his eyes shooting away to one side.

Luck got to his feet. His whole body felt numb, and he couldn't quite believe he was hearing this. He stepped forward and slid his hand under Dallas' jaw, up to his cheek, cupping it there but not forcing Dallas to meet his gaze. The younger man did that on his own, looking up and smiling nervously.

"I thought I was a rapist," Luck said.

"Well..." Dallas' eyes darted all over, though he didn't turn away. "I'm sorry I said that. I say stupid shit when I'm angry. You know that."

Luck was silent for a moment. "Tell me you want me, Dallas. Tell me, and be sincere, or I really do want you to leave. I can't..." He swallowed. "I _don't_ want to do this, if it's just your obligation."

Dallas shifted again. "Can't you just fuck me, and not talk about it?" he whined.

Much as he might understand the sentiment, Luck shook his head. "Not this time."

The younger man sagged slightly and stared at the floor for a moment. Then he stepped close and slipped his arms around Luck. The gangster returned the embrace, but didn't relax. He was still waiting.

"Okay, okay," Dallas said into the breast of his suit jacket. "Luck, I want you. I...I hated you at first, and I was scared if I didn't do what you wanted that you'd hurt me. I don't like what you do." He swallowed audibly. "But I'm no angel, either. And I...like you. I think maybe you're the best thing in my life, other than Eve."

Luck closed his eyes, and let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Thank you, Dallas," he whispered. "I disliked you at first, and I thought if I didn't treat you in certain ways that you would make me have to hurt you. But you're not the man I thought you were, and I think you could be a truly good man one day, if you get the hell over yourself."

He heard Dallas laugh softly, and smiled before continuing. "I want you, and I like you, more than I think I realized."

"Yeah." Dallas looked up and grinned uncertainly. "Now are we done talking?"

"Yes," Luck said, feeling his own grin stretch his face. Dallas leaned up to kiss him, and he stopped him with a finger to Dallas' lips. "But one more thing."

Frustration flickered on Dallas' face. "What?"

"Don't call me Mr. Gandor, ever again," Luck said.

Dallas' laugh was pure and honest. There was definitely something in Eve of him, after all, and it was obvious in that single moment. "It's a deal, Luck," he said, and then batted his hand aside so their lips could meet.


End file.
